


Questioning Death

by Anorien



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dreams, Gen, Halls of Mandos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 11:18:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3118214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anorien/pseuds/Anorien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil meets Namo in a dream, and speaks his piece. Based on a prompt "Grim Reaper: Someone comes face-to-face with the Angel of Death…"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Questioning Death

Darkness. It was all he could see in front of him for a time. He felt around in the shadows, hands searching for something from which to gain purchase. Nothing.

He stood still, unsure of where he was. He heard nothing, only his breath, and the beat of his heart. Slowly, his eyes adjusted. Even still, he could only see a few feet in front of him. He reached out, touching a wall, the silver band on his forefinger ringing gently as it touched the stone. It was the one thing he could see clearly - his wedding ring. 

Carefully he made his way through the pitch, sliding his hand along the wall. His footsteps echoed endlessly. Just as he began to wonder if the corridor would ever end, there was a flash. Suddenly, the unlit torches on the walls blazed forth with violet embers. The Elf eyed it suspiciously. Dark flames were often a sign of black magic. The light of the torches now revealed an end to the long hall. Warily he continued toward it. 

He came to a stop a few feet before the archway. His eyes ran over the etchings in the stone. He recognized the script , but he could not decipher their meaning. They read from right to left, and exhibited words he had never before heard. He wondered if it were some archaic form of Elvish. The hieroglyphs below depicted something else - several bodies, heads facing downward; solid circles, the shadows making them appear black; something that appeared to take flight; and a black doorway. Little of this made sense. He let out a sigh and continued on.

The archway opened up into a great hall. It was dark; a small amount of deep blue light was let in from an unknown source. There was a forest of obsidian columns that reached to the cathedral-like ceilings, which seemed to ascend to the sky. Here and there, black stalactites hung, glittering with tiny gems. But it was not lovely. There was no warmth here, no welcome, and the Elf was filled with dread. He felt a heaviness in his heart, though he could not explain it. This was a place of memory, dark and pained. He wondered what had brought him to such a desolate place, and where exactly this place was.

From the corner of his eye, he espied something toward the back of the hall. The caliginous sapphire light seemed to concentrate there, silhouetting a great figure. Cautiously, he made his way toward it, never letting his guard down. He did not trust this place, whatever it was, nor any that may inhabit it. His footfalls echoed loudly in the chasmal rotunda. The figure before him spoke.

"Come forth, Thranduil, son of Oropher!" it said, its voice as deep and cavernous as its abode. There was a slight hoarseness to it - what it was reminiscent of, the Elf did not know. He approached slowly, untrusting.

"Dost thou feareth me?" the figure asked. Thranduil could not tell if it mocked him. "Suppress thy fears! What thou seest art merely a vision of dreams. Thine arrival here is of Irmo's making, not merely my own. Thine doom is not yet at hand."

 _Doom._ The Elf knew who it was then. He had a thought to run. But what good was it, running from the Valar? Would they not still strike from a distance? 

"I shan't smite thee, as thou believe. Come closer."

"For what reason?" asked the king. "Why have I been summoned here? I have a right to know my fate, do I not?" 

"Thy fate was to sleep, good Elda," the Vala laughed, "and to wake later! Why art thou here? Thou hast been brought before me at thine own accord. I knowest thine heart and thinethoughts. Thou hast a great deal to say unto me." The Elf looked up at him from under his knitted brow. 

"What then?" he said sternly. "What would you do once I have said my piece?" 

"I shan't keep thee. It is as I have said: Thine doom is not yet at hand. Thou shalt see thine sons again. Speak!" Thranduil paused a moment.

"Thou hast much to ask me," the Vala said. Thranduil nodded.

"Indeed," he answered at last, "I do. First I would ask where I am."

"Dost thou not know where thou art? Thou hast cometh to the Halls of Mandos."

"The Halls of the Dead, then?" 

The figure was silent. Thranduil began toward him again. His anger was replaced with awe upon seeing the Vala at last. He was a tall being, seated on a great throne carved of black granite. His skin was ashen, the colour of a corpse. His great helm and armour were ebon, and in his right hand, he clutched a staff of jet. Thranduil tried to meet his eyes, but found they were void, save for a small gold light, like a cold star. On his left lay a great black dog, like a wolf, yet leaner, larger than any beast the Elf had ever laid eyes on. The beast was watchful, yet quiet. 

"Tell me, O King," said Namo at last, "hast thou any doubt this is where the Dead reside? Dost thou not believe that this is the abode of the fëa of the Departed? It is." Thranduil felt contempt rise in him again.

"Where are they then?" he asked. "If these are indeed the houses of the Departed, where are they? Surely these halls are vast, but to have none here? I find it peculiar."

"Thou dost not wish to see the Dead," Namo said, leaning forward. "Thou wishest to see the one thou refuses to deem passed. Thou lookest for thine wife. If that be thine wish, hast thou not come to the wrong place? Hast thou not wished to berate me for her fate, one she never faced? If she liveth yet, hast thou not misplaced thine hatred? Leave in silence, or admit what thou hast seen with thine own eyes!"

"You took her from me!" Thranduil exclaimed, unable to control his rage. He knew now that the Vala was baiting him. "You took everything from me!"

"Everything? Thou art a fool if thou think I have taken all from thee. Look to thine children!"

"My sons are left without a mother! They were children!" 

"Thine youngest hath turned into a man because of her death, hath he not? Thine wife's death was not in vain. Nor was it my doing."

"She was used," the Elf growled. "She was a pawn in the politics of Morgoth's servant! Were you or your kin not charged with his like? Yet you've forsaken us. Those who replaced you have died performing your duty."

"My duty? My duty is to harbour the Departed, including thine wife. I am also charged with guarding Melkor. I have performed my duties." The wolf glanced up, its eyes hollow, with a distance golden glint, as its master's.

"Your duties were to watch over us. To protect us."

"And this I do. Thine kinsfolk are protected well." 

"From what, dare I ask?" Thranduil scoffed. "What fate worse than death could befall them here?" 

"The fate of those resurrected in thine own lands. Surely thou hast not yet forgotten the works in Dol Guldur?"

"You speak of resurrection as if it were always an evil. Was Luthien not resurrected? Or Glorfindel, the Balrog Slayer? Was Beren the Man not returned to life?"

Among the Eldar, it was looked down upon to question the works of the Valar. Namo, however, retained a different approach. Though he did not know such feelings, he could sympathize with those whose loved ones now lay in his hands. Many times his name had been cursed out of passion and sorrow, and he allowed it. 

"Thine heart is in the right place, good Elf. It is as I have said: I know thine heart, and thine thoughts. Thine anger is borne of love-"

"Is that supposed to appease me?" The king was all but shaking with frustration and resentment. "You have a wife, do you not? Yet you can never lose her. You can never know the pain of a widower. You speak as if you have been in my place. I envy you. I envy your wife more. She will live forever. She will never know what it's like for her blood to run cold, to draw her last breath, to leave those she loves behind."

They were silent for a time. Thranduil felt the rage begin to fade. When several moment had passed, he spoke again.

"I wish to see her," he said softly, looking downward.

"Dost thou wish to see thine father?" Namo replied. Thranduil shook his head.

"My father and I had our closure."

"What of thine mother?"

"Please, tell me where Celendriel is."

"Thou hast lost many kinsman in thine life. What of them?"

"I would see my wife."

The great wolf stood, passed Thranduil, and trotted down a corridor, heading west. The Elf watched it for a moment, hopeful.

"He will not bringeth her with him upon his return. His duty lieth elsewhere."

"Then who will bring her?"

"Hast thou no other thou wish to speak with?"

"Celendriel!" Thranduil cried. "I wish only to speak with her, and no other!"

"And I would grant thou thine wish," Namo replied. 

"Yet you do not!"

"Because I cannot."

Thranduil felt all breath leave his body. The Vala could not allow him to see Celendriel? He struggled for words. 

"Is it because I live still? Because this is a dream?"

"Nay," said the Vala gently. "I would not have offered for thee to see thine kin if that were true. Thou cannot speak to thine wife because she is not here."

"Not here?" Thranduil repeated. "Then she isn't..?" Still he could not bring himself to admit her fate. Not even before the one who had mastered it.

"She hath denied my summons. Here, thine people find peace. She hath refused to rest here." The Elf felt his heart go cold. For so long, he had been under the impression that all found peace after death. It was a comfort to him, knowing his beloved was at rest. He felt as though his throat were closing.

"Why?" he managed to ask. 

"From these halls, few may walketh in Arda," Namo explained. "Thine wife hath resolved to stay amongst those she loveth. She hath refused to depart from her home. 'A mother cannot see her children from so far, nor a wife her husband.' By her own will, she shall remain nearer to thou."

The Elf stood silently, facing the rotunda. Far off in the distance, he could hear the wolf growl at something. He had to remind himself to breathe. The realization that Celendriel was not at peace would haunt him. 

"The others," he said after a long silence, "where are they?"

"Thine kin abideth here still," the Vala replied. "The Dead show themselves when they wish."

"Can they still hear those in Arda?"

"Yea, they can hear thee."

Thranduil nodded stiffly.

  
"Hast thou anything else to say to me?" Namo asked. The king shook his head. "Then return to thine own living rest. Go back to thine sons, and remember they still draw breath. Not all is taken from thee. Thou shalt not see me again." The world around him began to fade to black.

 

 

Thranduil woke with a start. He struggled to catch his breath. Namo's words echoed in his head as he regained conciousness, slowly understanding he was now back in his home, in the land of the Living. He lay still for a time, left hand underneath his right side, near his hip. He clutched his sleeping robes and sighed. His thoughts turned to Celendriel. Suddenly, he felt something cold brush against his cheek.

**Author's Note:**

> Holy crap, was this heartbreaking to write. And yet somehow, it was also a ton of fun writing Namo. I've never written the Valar before, so this allowed me to explore. A lot went into him, so, here we go with the notes...
> 
> -The markings on the archway are reminiscent of Ancient Egyptian tombs. There is Tengwar there, but it reads right-to-left, similar to ancient hieroglyphics. The Valar use a different language than the Elves, so it only made sense that it should be different. The hieroglyphs Thranduil sees are based on actual pictographs of the Hočąk people (search Gottschall head). The throned figured and the flying thing are of my own making - the object taking flight is the fëa, the figure is Namo.  
> -Namo speaks in a sort of Middle English, Shakespearean, if you will.  
> -Irmo, also known as Lorien, is the Lord of Dreams.  
> -The image of Namo is based on a concept sketch I did, seen here: http://anorie.tumblr.com/post/107161951389/i-decided-to-write-a-fic-involving-namo-but  
> -The wolf is also based on several mythologies. In Egyptian mythology, Anubis was the Lord of the Dead, and took the form of a jackal in earlier times. This is why the wolf mentioned is leaner - jackals have different body types than wolves. Tolkien also mentions Gorgumoth, a hound who guarded Morgoth when he was held captive. Black wolves are also associated with death in European mythologies (such as the Grim). Possibly being a Maia, the wolf is massive, easily the size of a buffalo.  
> -'fëa' - the spirit of an Elf. This is what returns to Mandos when the body has perished.  
> -Thranduil is unable to admit what happened to Celendriel. He suppresses the idea of her dying as much as he can. He refers to her as "No longer with us" or "taken".  
> -The reference to Celendriel's death is explained here http://anorie.tumblr.com/post/39433889717/headcanon-18  
> -Namo is married, to Vaire, the weaver.  
> -The wolf duty of the wolf is to aid Namo, mainly in the captivity of Morgoth. Mandos lies on the westernmost part of Valinor, and by going further, the wolf may be heading to the Void. It's unclear.  
> -Though Thranduil loves Haldir and Legolas unconditionally, in his meditations on death, he may... I don't want to say forget them. He doesn't forget them. He has feared in the past that he would lose them too.  
> -Thranduil and Celendriel held each others' hands when they slept. After her passing, he would find himself still searching for his hand, and took to placing one hand under a pillow and the other under his hip to pin it down.  
> -The cold spot is Celendriel. Spirits are said to be made of energy, and when one is nearby, there will be a cold spot. It's a very strange thing to experience. 
> 
>  
> 
> Well, I hope you enjoyed! I've resolved this year to write at least one fic every week-week and a half, so expect to hear from me!


End file.
